Little Dove
by akspick
Summary: (Jason as a dad). The olive branch of peace between Jason and the family is finally brought by a new addition to the brood. Although one could accredit it to Jason's always kind heart, or the fact that Jason and Bruce are as always more similar then they would care to admit.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Batman

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><p>"Hey B" Bruce jumps, actually jumps in his desk chair at Wayne Enterprises. Actually godforsaken jumps, in surprise, real surprise, pen falling out of his hand to clatter on his desk. Standing across from him next to one of the visitors chairs is Jason Todd. Jay, not Red Hood, standing in civvies across his desk in broad daylight, had apparently managed to sneak up on him. Jason who hasn't been seen in six months and has the rest of the family on edge to see what big scheme he's been cooking up while out of sight. At first Bruce thinks it's a hallucination, and then he tenses ready for a fight until-<p>

"Relax old man. Truce." Jason drawls holding up a hand in a back down gesture.

Bruce doesn't relax completely but he does lower himself back into his chair. Jason looks terrible. Only his black combat boot remain from his night wear, he's wearing torn jeans and a rumpled stained plain cotton hoody, with a bag slung across his back, instead of his usual black leather jacket and combat pants. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is greasy and limp. Jason's never been particular about his clothes, although he does prefer to be somewhat neatly pressed, they're usually just another tool to him, to convey a message, usually toughness. Bruce hasn't seen Jason look like this since he was living on the street. This sort of worn out look.

Bruce's heart clenches in guilt and worry, is this why the Red Hood hasn't been seen? Because Jason's gone back to living on the street. His son who spent as much time living on the street as under his father's roof. 'Please no' his mind whispers. 'let me not have missed that again, and this time' his mind hisses, 'he's old enough to stand on the street corners' He opens his mouth to ask, something anything trying to convey his worry but all that comes out is a growled,

"What do you want Jason?"

"I, B-" Jason runs a hand through his filthy hair, an innocuous gesture, but to the Bats comes across as extreme nerves "There's some one I need you to meet." And he pulls the bag on his back forward. Except it's not a bag, it's a sling. And in the sling is a child, an infant really. Who stirs for a moment before settling down in Jason's arms.

Bruce opens his mouth ready to comment but finds he has nothing to say and can only stare.

"B, you have to promise me, B you have to swear, before you meet her, you have to swear you won't take her away from me." Jason's face is as smooth a mask as any Bat but his eyes are full of true unbridled fear. Bruce doesn't respond, his own face a blank mask.

"_Dad_." Jason half barks have pleads, his voice full of raw emotion, focusing Bruce like a laser. "Swear you won't take her away from me, or I'll leave and I won't ever come back. I swear it B, I know you think I'm crazy and it would be for her own good, my own good, but if you even try, I'll walk out that door and I'll bury us so deep you won't ever see me again, not even before I kill you, and I will, I'd do anything for her." _Like you won't for me_, is left unspoken.

Consciously Bruce forces himself to sit down again, he hadn't even realized he'd risen in response to Jason's alpha posture. Jason's making himself as big as possible and looming, succeeding at it too even with the baby in his arms. All behaviors Jason had learned from him. He and Jason, always too much alike.

Bruce took in a breath and released it, placing his hands palm down on the desk, no weapons, Jay, see no weapons.

"I swear Jason, I won't take her away from you, never."

Jason deflates like a popped balloon. The weariness from before falling fast on his shoulders again.

"I-, oh, good, I know you probably thought Dick and Babs would be the first to-, and I'm sorry I did this to you before you were fifty and all. Another notch on my delinquency list, at least I'm not a teenager sort of and-" Jason pulls himself short and draws in a deep breath, before stepping around the desk and kneeling next to where Bruce's desk chair is, leaning forward over one of the arms, so Bruce can see into his arms.

"This is Marty." Jason speaks much softer now, "Your granddaughter." And there is a pleading note in his voice as he speaks the word granddaughter as if begging Bruce to accept her. "Would you like to hold her?"

All Bruce can do is open his arms.

She is a beautiful child. Not that Bruce knows a great deal about these things, but she looks about six months old, which answers the question of where Jason has been all this time. Bruce is enraptured by her, as Jason moves his arms into the correct position. She has a tuft of soft black hair, sticking out from under a knit cap, and there is a golden brown tint to her skin, suggesting Latino heritage. She, Marty, blinks slowly up at him, waking from her nap at the change in venue. She has light brown eyes, behind thick black lashes, and the button nose that all babies have, although it looks like it will grow into a point.

"Marty is short for Martha, if you'll allow it. Martha Todd?" It takes a moment for Bruce to focus back on Jason, and the uncertainty in his voice.

"Of course I'll allow it, I would be honored. Jason, she's beautiful."

"She's perfect." And Bruce hasn't seen Jason smile like that in a long time.

"Jason, I have to ask, her mother?"

"I don't know B. I'm not even her real father." Jason sinks down on his haunches as he speaks, relaxing as he deems his daughter safe, "I found her abandoned by some trash cans. She wasn't even all cleaned up yet, still covered in blood and fluid and things. Wrapped in an old blanket. I wouldn't have found her, and I know she's quiet now but damn does she have a set of lungs on her. How someone could even think to-. Anyway I would have gone to look for the mother, she probably couldn't have gotten far, but taking care of Marty seemed a lot more important."

Bruce nodded in agreement.

"Why not just call the police?"

"In this town?"

"Fair enough."

Jason has sunk even further, legs folded completely under him, head pooled in his arms, which lay crossed over the armrest of the desk chair. His head lolled to the side parallel with his daughter's as he watched her slowly wake. They sat in silence for a few moments just watching the baby.

"You look exhausted."

"You have no idea."

"Where have you been staying?" Apparently Jason still has enough energy to roll his eyes and squint skeptically up at Bruce.

"Nice try, but if it makes you feel better I have enough blood money to keep us more then adequately housed, fed, and clothed. I haven't been keeping her in some squat like I normally stay in. And you'll never find the money either."

"Jason."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm not trying to pick a fight, I just can't help myself."

"I know. If you like you can take a nap on the couch and I can mind her for a few hours? I would appreciate the chance to get to know my granddaughter better. When was the last time you had a break?"

"I-" Jason pauses before his brow furors, "never really. I mean I've been calling Roy for advice all the time, but-"

"Come on." Bruce steers his second son towards the couch in the corner of the office. Tucking Marty into one arm to do so, damn she really is ridiculously tiny.

Jason's really too tired to even raise up a token protest, as Bruce pulls a blanket out of one of the official looking filling cabinets, for emergency purposes only of course, and tucking it over Jason, who's managed to slump down in the two steps it took Bruce to walk to the cabinet.

For a moment Bruce feels like his heart might break in two, as an image of Jason at fourteen under the same blanket across the same couch superimposes itself briefly across the current image of his son at twenty. Jason had come roaring in that day after school, and a particularly brutal patrol the night before, raving about some book or another he'd been reading, before throwing himself down on the couch, and yawning his way through an explanation of why his English teacher was an idiot, and finally muttering about motifs my ass, before falling completely sideways. Jason had always loved school.

"There's diaper and food supplies in the sling, and some other stuff in my jacket." Jason mutters half into a couch cushion, with a vague gesture in the direction of those things, "and B, if she needs-"

"Jason I'll take care of it. If I can't I'll call Ma Kent. We'll both be right here when you wake up. We won't leave the room, I promise. We're not going anywhere." And he can't help himself but smooth back Jason's hair. The last time he did that Jason was in a box and his hair was brittle and his forehead cold, and he so desperately wants to feel its smoothness, but this time with warmth underneath. Even with that damned white stripe in his hair, only evidence of the toll all the stress and horror of death and resurrection had put on his body.

"Go to sleep Jay-lad. We'll be here when you wake up." Jay mutters something unintelligible before his eyes drift completely shut, and he's out.

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><p>When Jay wakes, he stays till for a few moments, as is always advisable when waking in a foreign environment. The sun is setting outside lighting the floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the office. Bathing the skyline and the office in its rosy hues, the desk lamp is on, but nothing else, casting long shadows.<p>

Jay shifts so he can watch Marty and Bruce. They're playing on the floor; Marty is on her back, laying on the silk lining of Bruce's jacket, were it's spread across the floor. Bruce is dangling his keys over her face, as she tries to snatch for them, cooing. He's leaning on his side, head propped up by an arm, shirtsleeves rolled up and tie discarded. They make such an odd contrast, with their different sizes and attires. The moment is surreal, Batman or Bruce Wayne, take your pick, either persona one of the most powerful men on earth is playing with a baby on his office floor.

Bruce has a look of contentment on his face, disrupted by something bittersweet.

"You know," he comments, making Jason drop the act and sit up, "I always used to imagine you all as babies. How much I had missed. How much I wished I had, had you then, and how selfish I was for even thinking that. Especially you Jason, how sometimes you would say or do something, and you wouldn't even know how-," Bruce cut himself off shaking his head, "and I wished I had found you earlier, especially after, after you died, and how I wished, maybe if I'd had you from the beginning, things would have been different, or had more time, but even after all that happened you still loved your mother, and I was so selfish for wanting to take you away from her. And how maybe if heaven or something was real, you could see her again. Then with Damian, how I could have, but his mother didn't tell me, didn't think I would want that, just an heir. I will never forgive her for that, never forgive the universe for that, either of them, even after they both brought you back to me."

"B-" Jason doesn't know what to say, he feels adrift. "B. You know death, isn't anything, if there was something I don't remember it, but when I was dying I wasn't thinking about my mother, I was thinking about you. I knew you weren't coming, but I wanted your there anyway, not as a last minute rescue, but because if you were there it wouldn't have hurt so much. Whatever it was when you were there things were always better, they never hurt as much, and even when I had good things they were better with you. That's why I had to bring Marty to you. She's so good, B, so very very good, and so perfect. Even though you screwed me up, well I screwed myself up, and you're pretty terrible at all this people stuff most of the time, and I'm gonna screw up with her too I'm sure, she's just so good B, so amazing beautifully good, you just had to meet her. You deserved to meet her. Without you I'd be dead or in jail or something, well I'm dead or in jail sometimes because of you too, but you know what I mean, without having done all that good stuff first, and then no one would have found her and she'd be gone too. So you deserved to meet her." Jason trails off. Going to sit on the floor cross-legged on the other side of Marty.

"You-" Bruce has to stop to clear his throat, "You should bring her to the manor next Friday, Alfred would love to meet her, and she has some Uncles and an auntie or two who'd be delighted. I'm sure some of Alfred's cooking wouldn't go unappreciated either."

"No it wouldn't. I might just do that B." Jason mutters, scooping up Marty from the floor and back into the sling. "We should get home before dark."

"I'll call a car."

"No need, we flew here, we can fly back."

"Are you sure that's good for her?"

"Roy's been doing it with Lian since she was four months old, and Dick says his Dad took him up on the wire when he was two weeks old. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets her to settle." Jason shrugs, and moves to the window that opens and leads to the roof, against a dozen city codes and laws.

"If your sure," Bruce mutters as Jason perches on a ledge. "And Jason."

Jason turns back from where he's scaling scaffolding.

"Yeah, B?"

"I wouldn't mind given her more than the name Martha. Marty Todd-Wayne sounds just fine."

"I'll think about it." Jason nods and then he's gone into the night, swinging away.

* * *

><p>Twelve years later...<p>

Marty is twelve years old today, and as her Uncle Dick had told her laughing this morning, it is an auspicious day. Next year will be even more exciting, because she'll get to go on patrol if she wants, but today is also the first day she gets to go out in public. Well she's been out in public before of course, but never in the public eye before and this is the first time she's going out as a Wayne, to an event, one that even has her name in it. The annual Martha Wayne Children's Charity Gala. Which her Uncle Tim had told her was a Big Responsibility, while her Dad had rolled his eyes, and her Uncle Damien had muttered something probably rude. But it doesn't really matter since she's the first of her cousins to get to go, and it doesn't matter what anyone else says about the event she is excited.

So her Dad had dropped her off this morning, and after staying only for a brief chat had kissed her on the cheek and told her he'd be back later for her actual party, which would happen after the gala, and he promised he would be on his best behavior for it, and not start any fights with her Uncles and he wouldn't even bring his guns! Then he'd roared off on his bike.

Marty's Aunt Cass had shown up after breakfast, and the two of them had spent the day getting ready. Going from a spa to lunch, and then to manicures and stylists. For a girl who still hadn't quite grasped the intricacies of the necessity of a hairdryer and could disembowel a guy in seconds flat, Marty's Aunt Cass could get quite enthusiastic over nail color, and accessories.

Now Marty was standing upstairs in the manor in a red sparkly dress and her very first pair of heels staring at herself in the tri-fold mirror she'd discovered tucked away in a back bedroom.

She looked odd, nice but so very strange, Marty almost didn't recognize herself. Her black thick curly hair, the only trait she shared with her Dad, was up-swept and tamed, instead of in its usual ponytail, the only hairstyle her Dad knew how to do, unlike Uncle Dick who could do everything. Her lashes looked long, and somehow her skin, which was the darkest in her whole family, except for Auntie Tam looked like it was glowing. She looked like a lady, like her Aunt Cass did sometimes. She tried to pull her shoulders back and set her chin just so, like she'd seen the women in the pictures do, but she just looked silly, so she went back to just scowling.

"So this is where you got to." Marty didn't jump, she _didn't._ It was just a hop really.

"Hello, Grandpa."

"If you keep your face like that it'll stick."

"That's what Dad says too, but I don't believe either of you." Marty finally spun around, staring up at her only Grandfather, well there was Alfred but he was more of a Grandmother sometimes the way he acted, or a great-grandfather.

Her only grandfather was tall, a more accurate word was huge, wherever he went he filled up a lot space, like her Dad and Uncle Damien. People tended to think it was scary but she'd always thought it was reassuring. It made her feel safe, especially with how small she was.

Grandfather had streaks of silver in his dark hair, and a strong jaw, on a stern face only starting to get wrinkles. She knew he was young, a lot younger then most other kids grandfather's but she didn't mind. He had the clearest blue eyes you would ever see, and while she'd seen them drill through almost everyone including her father, they were always kind when focused on her. And that sort of half smile twitched on his lips, yup there it was.

"I have something for you."

"Dad said you might. He said it was important?"

Marty's grandfather let out a small huff.

"Not so important no, but a gift nonetheless. Your Aunt Cass and Selina said it was time, and said you ought to have it more then the two of them." And he held out a grey velvet box.

Marty opened it carefully.

Inside was a beautiful double strand of pearls.

"They look old." Marty said with reverence, "Am I supposed to wear them?"

"If you'd like," Bruce said, Marty nodded.

"Here let me." And with steady hands her Grandfather knelled before her and attached them around her neck, and then leaned back on his haunches, palms on his thighs. A wistful look on his face.

"You look so much like her."

"Like Who?"

"My mother, Martha. The pearls belonged to her."

"Grandpa," Marty said in her patient, you are being silly voice, "I'm adopted, and Dad's adopted, and I'm Latina, how could I look like her? I don't look like anyone in the family."

"You're kind Marty, and graceful, that's why you look like her, and you keep our family together, like my mother used to, besides how many times have people told your Dad he looks like me?"

"Loads, but that's cause, like Uncle Dick says, you both look like Gotham bruisers."

"Well regardless, you are my granddaughter and I love you very much, despite your ridiculous Uncle. Now come on, Cass, Tim and Damien are waiting downstairs for us, and you know how they get."

Bruce held out a hand for her.

Instead of taking it, Marty hugged him quick around the middle.

"Thank you, Grandpa."

"You are very welcome little dove."

"Why do you always call me that?"

"Because you've always brought peace to this family. Now, lets go introduce you to the big wide world."

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><p>Read and Review<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

They're arguing again, Dad and Grandpa. They do that a lot, but this time it's really bad. They'd sent her to her room, not that that had really done any good, since they're shouting, and she has a glass pressed to the door, but they both sound angry.

"If you won't come back to the mansion, at least let Marty-"

"You Promised, you old bastard, you **said** you wouldn't take her away from me!"

"Jason I'm not taking her away from you! But you're running out of money, I know-"

"You don't know jack shit, old man! We're doing just fine on our own, I don't need your money."

"If not for you then for Marty. She's starting kindergarten soon, at least let me pay for that. A Wayne foundation scholarship if you don't want ties-"

"So now what? Public schools not good enough for your granddaughter? Huh? And you said it she's starting school soon, I'll have time to get back on the streets. Cash flow 'ill pick up real good then."

"Absolutely not I forbid it. You will not go back to killing people!"

"You forbid it, do you?" Marty's father laughs, it's not a nice sound, "Guess what old man, you don't get to forbid me to do anything. Don't you remember, I'm a criminal, a murderer, we all knew I was going to go back some day."

"If you do that, I'll hunt you down and put you right back in Arkham, and then what will happen to Marty? She'll be right back with me, or maybe I won't get to her in time, and she'll end up in the system. Is that how I get to find my granddaughter, the same way I found you?"

"YOU BASTARD-" there is a crashing sound, and then the sound of something breaking. Marty scurries back from the door, ducking under her bed. There is another crash, and Marty darts out a hand to grab her teddy bear, before ducking completely under the bed. Then all is silent.

With a cautious peak, Marty heads back to the door. Cautiously she unlocks it and peaks out. Just enough so that her eyes can peer through the slit.

Her Dad is on the floor, on his knees, his face away from her, but she can tell he's crying, his shoulders are shaking. She's never seen him cry before. Grandpa is on the floor too, at her Dad's back, pinning her Dad's arms to his sides, whispering in his ear so quiet she can't hear. One of the kitchen chairs is broken.

"Daddy?"

Grandpa steps back, dropping his arms from around her Dad, who throws his arms open for her. She practically shoots into them, and he wraps her up tight.

"Sorry, baby girl, sorry, sorry, we didn't mean to scare you." He's silent for a moment, just holding her. "Never ever meant to do that, meant to be better, sorry, sorry." He takes another shuddering deep breath. "I think you're going to need to stay with Grandpa Bruce for a while okay?"

"Jason-"

"What, why?" Marty protest.

Her Dad ignores her, face still buried in her fluffy hair, and speaks to her grandpa.

"I-, you were right Bruce. I am a murderer, a criminal. I don't, I can't do this to her. I never should have tried. I just keep hurting everyone."

"Jason, no, Jason look at me." She can feel her Grandpa sit down behind her, in front of her Dad, and her Dad look up at him, shifting his weight so she settles better in his lap. "You are a good Dad Jason. Better then I ever was, never doubt that, and I promised I would never take her away from you." A brush against her hair makes Marty realize her Grandpa has cupped her Dad's face in his hand. "If you won't let me pay for Marty's school then at least let me pay for yours. That's not charity, all right? All parents pay for their kids' school. At least let me support you while you do that. You were so smart Jay-lad; you loved school. Always brought home those A's, always telling me about this book and that. Please at least let me do that. College Jay, for Marty?" She's never heard her Grandpa plead before. It's almost as bad sounding as her Dad crying.

Her Dad nods, and she hears her Grandpa let out a breath.

"Sorry, Marty, sorry." Her Dad mutters again, "I always just get so angry. Never at you though Munchkin, never. Come on lets go pack a bag, we'll go stay at the manor tonight." And he shifts to his feet, tucking her against his chest.

They do go stay at the manor that night, and they just never seem to leave.

Marty gets used to it. It's nice having Alfred there in the mornings to wake her up, and not just on Christmas like usual. Grandpa always helps her read the newspaper in the mornings too. But its not their apartment, everything's all sparkly and shiny, and big, and Marty's not allowed to touch anything. She's also not allowed in the cave. Grandpa was happy to let her in; he'd even let her play on the huge computer before her Dad had come storming in yelling. Something about brainwashing, and get her killed even younger, and absolutely not, and now Marty wasn't allowed in. That's all right though. Marty doesn't particularly like bats and besides Damian's always down there too.

Marty hates Damian. Everything else at the manor is all right, except for Damian. Marty hates him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. Uncle Dick had said that. Uncle Dick _likes _Damian, she really doesn't understand. Well technically Damian is her Uncle too, but she'd never call him that.

Damian is _old_, fifteen, he always likes to point out, ooooh, so old; and he always calls her brat, and he never lets her play with his dog, and his cat is mean. The cat bit her, so she bit back like Daddy always said to do during training, and then Damian had yelled at her.

Finally September comes around and then Marty has to go to school. Marty is not happy about this. Daddy's gone all the time now, and when he's home he's always studying. He was always around before to play with her, and now he's never here, ever. If she goes to school she'll never see him.

"But why do I have to go to school?" She whines at her Dad.

"How are you supposed to learn if you don't?"

"You and grandpa and Alfred could teach me. You already taught me all that science stuff, and how to read, and grandpa is teaching me all those martial arts, and Alfred is teaching me how to cook."

"She has a point, you know." Her grandpa comments from behind his newspaper at the other end of the table.

"NOT helping B. Then you have to go so you can make new friends." She opens her mouth, to protest that she has lots of friends, but her Dad cuts her off "Friends your own age, it's good for you socially."

"Then why doesn't Damian have to go?"

"She also has a point there." Her grandpa comments again, "Damian!" he reaches over and yanks the ear bud out of Damian's ear.

"What!" Damian snarls, yanking it back.

"You'll be starting school next week."

"What?!" Damian yells, jumping up from the table, "Father that's outrageous. I refuse to go sit all day with those pretensions saps, while I'm bored out of my mind. What could those plebeians they call teachers possibly have to teach me?"

"I didn't say you'd be going back to Gotham Academy." Damian just gaps at him. "As you so calmly elucidated there is very little Gotham Academy could teach you, and since Timothy deals with Wayne Enterprises networking is out of the question. Also after the last incident I highly doubt they'll take you back. As our little dove pointed out public school will teach you social skills."

"C'mon little D." Marty's Dad chortles "Think of it as under cover work."

"Stay out of this Todd, and you-" Damian rounds on Marty, "you little Brat, you started this. I'm going to-"

Alfred smooth as always picks that time to intervene.

"Perhaps, Master Damian, you could inquire as to which school your friend Mr. Wilkes, Colin was it? Attends, and enroll there.

That draws Damian up short.

"That would not be altogether unpleasant. In fact in terms of mission availability that would be most optimal."

"Then I will make arrangements tomorrow." Alfred nods, and that's the final word on the subject.

School's not so bad. Some of the kids are nice, and she likes the singing. Dad's pretty bad at singing. Except next month Damian comes to pick her up from school, and there's a red headed boy behind him, looking just as chipper as Damian looks sullen.

"What are you doing here?" She hisses at him from where she's getting her backpack from her cubby. He looks weird. He's wearing jeans, a beanie, and a t-shirt and leather jacket, which she knows he hates. He always dresses like Grandpa, all fancy, or in the super traditional Gis to practice, which even Grandpa doesn't wear. His weird red headed friend is dressed even sloppier, in beat up jeans, and a really old plaid hunting jacket. He's not wearing a hat, and his ears are all pink from the fall air.

"I'm here to pick you up Brat. Father requested it, since your Father has class, and Pennyworth's on holiday, or something."

"I'm not going home with you." Marty declares standing her ground.

"Then I'll leave you here. I have better things to do." Damian declares, but he doesn't back down either, widening his stance, and crossing his arms, and staring down at her.

"Damian, could we hurry it up? People are looking at us weird." The redheaded boy remarks, looking around nervously at glaring parents.

"Fine." Damian replies, and then reaches down and plucks her off the ground.

"Let go of me you meanie!" Marty yells, pounding on him with her fists, and going dead weight. She doesn't scratch him though, or go for the eyes or the groin, that's only for real fights.

"Put her down right now!" Uh-oh that's Mrs. Monroe, the teacher. She's nice, except when she's not.

"Damian!" The redheaded boy hisses. Damian drops her. She lands hard.

"I'm gonna tell Alfred!" Marty growls from the floor, until Mrs. Monroe grabs her, and shoves Marty behind her back.

"Who are you and what do you want with my student?"

Damian opens his mouth, but Colin steps on his foot, and pushes his way forward.

"Sorry Ma'am, but I think there's been a misunderstanding. Mr. Wayne says that Marty's Dad phoned the office and said one of her Uncle's would be picking her up today?"

"I got that note, you don't look like Uncles. You look like high school students."

"Well we are Ma'am. But we're Uncles too. Well I'm not, I'm just a friend who needed a ride home, but Damian is, an Uncle I mean. He's the youngest of five. Marty's Dad is one of his older brothers."

"I don't know what's going on here, but I'm calling security, and you're going to sit right there." She points to some of the ridiculously tiny chairs. "Until I can figure this out."

Half an hour later Marty's Dad comes storming in.

"Marty you're okay." He calls, swooping her up into a bear hug. "They called and said someone tried to kidnap you."

"Yeah Stupid-face."

"Stupid-face? Why would Damian try to-" Then he spots Damian, hunched over in one of the little chairs, and starts yelling at him in Arabic. It's a trick he discovered ages ago, Damian actually listens to what you say if you order him in Arabic.

"You! Damian what did you do, and what did you drag Colin into?"

"I didn't do anything Todd! You're stupid daughter refused to-"

"Shut up, Little-Demon. I was in a meeting with a Professor. We'll talk about this at home. When B said he'd send someone to pick Marty up I thought he meant Dick, not you. You don't even have your license yet, or a car seat." Then he turns to Mrs. Monroe and switches to English.

"I'm so sorry about this Mrs. Monroe. This has been a huge mix up. Damian is in fact my little brother, and totally authorized to pick Marty up. When my father said he'd send one of my brothers I assumed he'd be logical and pick one that my daughter actually likes, and has at least a modicum of social skills. Of course he didn't. I'd also like to thank you for taking our kidnapping warnings seriously. You did an excellent job."

"Not a problem Mr. Todd. I would have done it for any student, and to be fair none of you really look alike."

"Oh, both Marty and I are adopted, and Damian's mom was Middle Eastern. Easy mistake to make. Still thank you all the same." Then he turned back to Damian and Colin, speaking in English for Colin's benefit. "As for you two. Colin I am so sorry, we'll drive you straight home, and next time call me for a ride. Little-Demon, I hope Dad clips your wings for a month. Now march."

"I'm not a child Todd. You can't tell me-"

"_March._" This time Marty's Dad practically hisses it in Arabic, and they trail after him like ducklings.

Marty sticks her tongue out at Damian behind her Dad's back. He might be a little Demon but she's a little devil.

The war between Damian and Marty escalates all the way until Christmas, although they manage to keep it fairly silent and just between the two of them. Damian also picked her up from school several more times as well, although from then on he waited outside, by either the car or his motorcycle. Marty often marched by his lounging figure, head held high like a queen until he opened the car door like Alfred. She could see it make his fingers twitch like he wanted to strangle her. She liked Colin though, Colin was nice.

Their great war finally came to a head at Christmas. The manor was as usual, crowded. Which meant it was just starting to feel full, instead of cavernous. Uncle Dick, Auntie Barbie (only Marty and her Dad called her Barbie) and Uncle Tim were both home, and Auntie Cass was arriving tomorrow. Auntie Steph was celebrating with her Mom but she promised to stay for dinner at least one night, and Marty was going to meet Uncle Tim's girlfriend Tamara.

Everything was great except Damian wouldn't stop watching her. Marty hadn't meant to touch his stupid bow. If he didn't want her practicing with it, he shouldn't have left it in the upstairs gym. She'd show him. If he wouldn't stop looking at her suspiciously, she'd give him a reason so he wouldn't sleep with his eyes closed for a month after this.

It was all as carefully planned as a five year old could make it.

She gathered up every dull arrow she could find in the house and snuck some heat-activated glue from Uncle Tim's old bedroom. Then she carefully attached some of the glue and cat hair to the end of each arrow. If he liked his stupid cat so much he could just be one.

After Marty was finished she retreated to an alcove in the entrance hall and waited. She waited all day, no dice, so she climbed back up the next morning.

Finally her patience paid off. The doorbell rang and Damian came skidding forward to answer it, breezing past Alfred.

Just as Damian answered the door she took careful aim and fired.

"Death to Demons!" she shrieked only to have the arrows go whizzing by Damian and smack Auntie Cass, who had been on the other side of the door, in the face. Cass managed to avoid most of them, but at least two whacked her, the arrows sliding off, leaving behind two blobs of cat hair. One on Cass's face.

Marty was a smart girl; she knew the advantages of a tactical retreat. She took off running. Being a baby bat, even against the scariest bats of them all, it took them a good five minutes to catch her. In which case she was hauled up to her grandfather's office, Marty's dad was called from somewhere nebulous and possibly nefarious, probably the kitchen and they were all arranged in grandfather's study. Grandfather in his chair, with Marty's Dad behind it lounging in that specific way all Wayne men affected, Cass with a tight grip on Marty's shoulder and Damian glowering off to the side.

"Explain." Cass barked, scarier then she had any right to be with cat hair on her face.

"Father that little, that little Devil," Damian broke in, "has been trying to ambush me for days she-"

"Lying lying liar!" Marty shrieked. "You keep getting in my way, and moving all my stuff, and trying to push me off things, I'm only getting back, you stupid-face."

"Enough." Bruce spoke calmly but harshly. "Damian I thought you'd grown out of this. You are ten years her senior. Jason-" the tiniest bit of glee slid into his voice, he didn't have to deal with this one, "-she's your daughter, you decide. What is the solution to this problem?"

Jason peeled himself off the wall with a ripple, and moved forward to swing Marty up into his arms, where a smirk settled onto her face. Dad would get her out of this.

"I think," here Jason paused, before continuing slowly, "Alfred deserves a break. It's the holidays, he has all these Christmas parties to handle, including the one tomorrow night at the museum. I believe two extra helpers, it that's all right with you B, would be much appreciated, and we can just let him know to cancel the cleaning crew."

"What!" Two young voices shrieked in tandem.

"Father! This is ridiculous, Todd has no right to order me around, tell him-"

"Daddy! I didn't do nothing-"

Bruce spoke over the cacophony, "I think that is an excellent idea Jason."

The next day they're woken up bright and early by Alfred, Damian shoved into a servers uniform, and Marty into an old dress, and Damian is forced to carry a belligerent Marty to the car.

"Behave." Jason warns Marty with a stern look as she's carried out the front door. "Be good for Alfred or else." Marty releases a put upon sigh, and they head to the museum where things are already being unloaded from trucks.

Most of the morning is completely normal. Alfred puts Marty to work in a corner where she can't get into trouble, setting her repetitive mindless tasks that a five year old can do, folding place cards, sorting silverware, and the classic peeling of vegetables, which along with repetitions of katas and pushups all Wayne children have done as punishment at one point or another. Damian joins her for the peeling of vegetables but is other wise ordered into a coverall and made to lift heavy things at the point of Alfred's gloved hand. Dragging tables between sculptures, and setting up stands in front of paintings to display items for the silent auction later.

The afternoon is much of the same but slightly more torturous for Damian as various members of the Batfamily arrive and smirk as they watch him fold napkins and arrange flowers and look sympathetically at Marty. Sometimes Damian's reputation does him more harm then good, and Bruce quietly evaluates the fact that the rest of the family is all too ready to believe that his son would torture a five year old.

For the actual party they stay locked in a quiet room off the backstage catering area. With the complicated dance of service going on they've been ordered to stay out of the way. At nine, Marty who normally has an eight o'clock bedtime has curled up on a pile of tablecloths dozing, while Damian packs up dirty dishes to be shipped out by the catering company, all of whom have found it hilarious that the Wayne children have been ordered to help and were only too happy to boss them around all night.

That's when the shooting starts.

Marty lets out a tiny noise of surprise as she's pulled up into Damian's arms, but reflexes take over as she's launched toward an upper cabinet, tiny fingers grip quickly enough and she wiggles back as Damian follows, not a moment too soon as armed gunmen dressed in holiday masks sweep the room quickly.

"Is it the Joker?" She hisses at Damian as soon as they're gone.

"Ak-47's and Christmas masks at Christmas, it could be anyone. Stay there."

"But-"

"Now is not the time to argue with me Marty." It's a rare occurrence when Damian uses first names. "You have to promise to do everything I say."

"But-"

"Promise or I lock you in here."

"I promise."

"Good. I'll let you out as soon as I check the room. _Everything_ I say. Understand?"

"Yes Damian." And then he's gone.

He comes back in a few minutes, the door of the cabinet swinging open, and Marty jumps down into his open arms and then onto the floor.

"What's the plan stan." Marty says, trying to imitate Auntie Steph's proud stance and cheerful sound. Damian looks a little disturbed.

"Do not ever say that to me again. Go sneak under the tables blow the fuse box and find cover. I will get father and the others out." He hands her a steak knife. "For trouble."

Marty nods solemnly and goes to do as asked.

Ducking low in the doorway, she slides into the kitchen, crawling behind the stainless steel tables, knife gripped tightly in her hand. With a quick burst she's from the kitchen into the main party area and under a tablecloth. The room she's in is empty at least; they've herded everyone into the room with the silent auction. She can hear shouting and bullets from there. Damian must be doing his job then. Shimmying along the ground she pops out completely on the other side of the room. With another quick dash she's under the temporary stage and has her fingers on the fuse box.

Everything goes dark, and Marty curls up and waits. Grandpa will be there soon.

Slowly the noises from the other room go quiet, and then loud when the sirens come, and then noisy but not really loud. Marty waits. Damian told her to find cover and she did, and now she will wait.

Then instead of the familiar pointed ears or red mask, Damian's unmasked face pokes under the awning.

"I found her!" he yells to someone behind him, and then reaches in and scopes her up.

Suddenly there are a million flashlights in her face and Marty ducks, burying her face in Damian's black button up, and now very rumpled polyester tie. The uniform of the kitchen staff. Earlier that evening he had tied the polyester tie like he was tying a dead rat's tail around his neck.

"Back off." Damian hisses at the police officers. Towing her through the crowd back towards the main room.

"You did well Habibi." Damian whispers in her hair. "Everyone is alright because of you. A credit to our house."

"Stupid-face." Marty sniffles, but hugs him tighter.

On Monday when Damian picks her up from school he isn't waiting by the car but by the school gate and when she appears he holds out a hand. Marty takes it, and they walk back to the car, Marty chattering about her day.


End file.
